i spent new year's day reading rilke's the notebooks of malte laurids brigge. here is an excerpt i had written down on a receipt and only just rediscovered, i'm still sighing over it:
the city is full of people who are slowly sliding down to their level. most of them resist at first; but then there are these faded, aging girls who constantly let
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re auden: "two herculean eggs" and "byzantine dome of the head" are just fantastic phrases to throw around. i cant wait to use them.
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